


Power and Control

by gokkyun



Category: League of Legends
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gokkyun/pseuds/gokkyun
Summary: Two man made monstrosities and a bargain.





	Power and Control

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I like well-spoken champs and I love it when Jhin gets fucked up. 
> 
> Really though, there's nothing much to this except that I think too much about my favorite champions and their interactions when I queue up for League. Hope ya'll enjoy reading!

A man's calm footsteps echo through an otherwise silent and abandoned house. The building's old stairs that lead to the third floor protest under his heavy and slow steps. Twilight shines in through the cracks in the ceiling and the broken windows, the snow white full moon a sufficient light source. A pungent and disgustingly rank smell lingers in the air, but it doesn't faze the man at all. He makes his way through an empty room when his boots suddenly come in contact with something wet. 

Red meets red as Jericho Swain's eyes gaze down upon a glistening pool of thick blood. He guessed as much. No, he knew before he even made his way here, a flock of crows waiting patiently on the torn roof. With the slightest curl of his lips he continues on until he is greeted by the cause of the odor filling his nose. A corpse. But not just simple corpse. It is mutilated beyond recognition. Bend and reshaped in ways even Swain has never seen though certainly heard of. 

It is not just the corpse his eyes gaze upon. A shadow stands above it that comes into clear view a mere second later. The figure is tall and slender, an elegant cream-colored robe covering most of his body as well as a rather large deformation on his shoulder. A mask with a heinous smile carved into it rests on the person's face, hiding all of it except for a single half-lidded blue eye. 

On the figure's other shoulder sits a far too familiar crow, peaceful for once as she enjoys the soft scratches the man offers her. Finally he turns his head to Swain, unimpressed. Swain guesses he was spotted by a trap long ago. "A demon on the prowl," he remarks and muses in his head that, for once, he is not talking about himself. "A Golden Demon. Or shall I call you Khada Jhin?" 

Even with all his knowledge about breaking and killing men with words, Swain cannot read Jhin. And how could he, with an unmoving face such as a mask. "How do you know who I am? How can you be sure that I am not just a petty murderer? Noxus is certainly not lacking in that department." 

"A little bird told me." 

"I see." Jhin laughs, clearly amused. "So Noxus' Grand General is here to personally get rid of me? Quite the honor, is it not?" 

"And how do you know who I am?"

The intense shine of Jhin's sharp eye behind his mask and under the moon's light catches Swain's attention. It shifts from Swain's face to his left arm. Of course. How stupid of him. Swain huffs, immediately hiding the glowing red limb under the material of his black coat. "Ionia is full of tales. Not just of me. But of you too, my dear. Besides that," Jhin says before turning his eye towards Beatrice, who still calmly rests on his left shoulder, "there are hardly any crows with six eyes that one should not be weary of." 

An unusual urge overcomes Swain. Genuine amusement. Such a clever boy. He chuckles. "Indeed. And Beatrice seems to have found a liking to you." 

"As much as I enjoy our little banter, what is it you want? I am aware that I have spilled Noxian blood, on Noxian ground no less. But I have no quarrel with you, Jericho Swain. And I highly doubt that you would take care of lowly soldiers' deaths yourself," Jhin says. And although his voice is calm, it has a rough edge to it.

"You are correct. I do not care whom you kill. Pathetic weaklings that cannot hold their own do not deserve their place in _my_ vision of Noxus." Without any ounce of pity Swain's boots move the corpse in front of him to underline his point. "What I do care about is you, Golden Demon. I heard of you during my time in Ionia. Your atrocities and your capture. Plays. Poems. And tales, as you mentioned. Tales that would terrify a common man and wonder what monster, what demon would do such things. But all it did to me was make me wonder if the tales tell the truth. If you really are a demon."

For the first time Swain sees Jhin hesitate, clever wit for once stuck on his tongue. He thinks, calculates, most likely tries to get a step ahead of Swain. An endeavor that is quite futile as many have found out. How amusing.

Beatrice suddenly screeches in ridiculing laughter on Jhin's shoulder, mirroring the thoughts of her apparent master. Swain glares at the raven, but at least she forces Jhin out of his thoughts. "What would you do if you found out I was a demon?" 

Snap your neck. Eat your soul. Make myself more powerful than any of these human fools could ever imagine. 

But what kind of master tactician would Swain be if he revealed his plan? What he reveals is his left arm though. Appearing from under his coat, it channels the demonic power lingering within Swain. With a low croak Beatrice lifts off of Jhin's shoulder and a burst of red energy pulls him closer towards Swain. A tiny but sufficient fragment of Jhin's soul pours out of him before he can react to any of this. 

The crows on the roof caw and rasp wildly as Beatrice catches sight of the fragment, glistening like a ruby in her greedy eyes. Swiftly, she harvests the fragment and obediently brings it to Swain. She rests on his shoulder as seemingly countless visions and memories rush through him momentarily and within mere seconds. Visions of a peaceful Ionia, of one of its island's calm sea and high mountains. A lively city. And then of carnage, of a number, counted over and over again. Of imprisonment. Despair. An emotion far too human. 

Then - freedom. Oddly enough, restraint comes with it. Frustration. The need for attention. Unsatisfied. 

But before Swain has the chance to delve deeper into Khada Jhin's memories, he is held at gunpoint. Not scared of any mortal's weapon, his red eyes meet Jhin's blue one. But something is different about the one thing Jhin exposes of his face. His eye is not apathetic anymore, but wide with fear. Shaking, even. "What-" Jhin tries to speak, but his words come out with a cough. "What have you done?!" 

He stumbles backwards, the gun never leaving his slender fingers, fingernails painted in black pressing against its material. The weapon was in Jhin's memories too. Whisper. A peculiar name for something as loud and malicious as this instrument of death. "You are no demon. A mere assassin. Though I must admit, a quite interesting and skilled one," Swain remarks and Jhin seems even more confused than before. And although Jhin's soul is not of any use to him, not more than any mortal's soul, Swain sees great use in him. Who would have thought that Ionia would use such dirty methods now? And who would have thought that they would send Swain his own personal spy and assassin, right into his lap? After all, Swain could always make use of a malleable mind.

"Be silent with your gibberish and answer me!" 

"I will." Without any fear of Jhin's little toy, Swain takes a step closer. He does not flinch when Jhin pulls the trigger of Whisper. Its bullet doesn't force itself into Swain's head though, but into a crow instead. The animal's lifeless body drops next to Jhin's other victim. "How tedious. Listen now, boy. You work for me. Give me what I want. And I will give you what you want. And maybe I will be kind enough to explain _and_ let you live." 

Jhin takes a step back. The same distance of Swain's earlier step forward. "I do not think so, demon. As intriguing as Noxus' performances are, I am a servant of Ionia's council in exchange for my, _pft_ , freedom, if one can even call it that. I am chained to their will like a dog and if I disobey they will know. So what difference does it make if they kill me after I perform for you or if you do now?" 

A glint appears in Jhin's blue eyes, keen and sharp all of a sudden. And despite that, Swain relaxes. He has the boy where he wants him. Like any man, Jhin submits to the threat of death and the idea of true freedom. Pathetic. But oh so useful to Swain. "Let me speak plain and simple," he says, "I do not ask of you to kill for me. Not yet. All I want is information. Information that Ionia's council keeps hidden behind locked doors. And I am sure you can get me such a simple thing, yes? And once my hand closes its grasp around Ionia, you will have your freedom. That, I promise."

Through his mask, Jhin releases a deep breath. An eerie sound. Still a sound Swain knows far too well. Ah, the power of persuasion and knowing one's deepest desires. "How do I know I can trust you, demon?" 

Trust, huh? The ravings of a fool. But trust can be gained and exploited. A powerful weapon. A weapon Swain knows exactly how to wield once its in his hands. "How can I earn your trust then, Golden Demon?" 

"If your words of this agreement are no lies, then we both know how valuable I am to you. Ionian traitors are few," Jhin suddenly explains with a calm and overly smug voice. A mild frown settles upon Swain's face. One does not simply turn the Grand General offer into a demand of their own. But he guesses it is his own fault for having taken this man for a fool. A silver tongue that rivals Swain's own hides beyond the undignified exterior. "My first demand is that you let me be on my way immediately. Of course, this will not be my last demand. And despite the fact that I am not very keen on making a bargain with you, I will be _very_ humble in my demands, my dearest Grand General." 

"Go then," Swain nods in agreement. 

_Before I change my mind about ripping your heart out._

 

* * *

 

A knock from a guard against two tall and heavy wooden doors. Another. And another. One too few. "Come in," a familiar voice prompts from behind them. A voice that makes Jhin's skin crawl. Even after months of conducting business with Jericho Swain and having to deal with his rough voice, he is not sure if it moves him in a good or bad way. 

The guard in front of Jhin motions for him to keep following. He is clad in a thick armor of dark steel, a helmet covering most of his face. A red cape floats behind him that cuts off at his knees. Noxus' crest decorates it. Whenever Jhin sees it he cannot help but to muse how bland it is. But he supposes that quite suits Noxus. 

With a heavy sound the armored man opens the big doors and leads Jhin into a grand room. Cold marble walls make it look elegant, although the Noxian crests and several weapons put on the walls for display give it that _charm_ Jhin so appreciates about Noxus. The sidewalls are both held simple in design as there's nothing but bookshelves that are filled to the brim. 

A high and wide table is on the right side of the room. On it rests a large map of Runeterra. Pins are stuck in it and figurines of different color are placed on it. All of them have different position every time Jhin is here. And he knows why. The other side of the room's front holds simple sitting opportunities. However, the focal point of the room is clearly the broad mahogany desk in the centered back. Behind it are spacious windows and a long passageway, leading to what seems to be a balcony. Despite having been in this room several times already, Jhin has never entered the passageway and he cannot help but to wonder what the view from there might be like. 

"Grand General," the guard says as he bows his head. "Your masked guest, as you expected." 

Swain does not even bother to look up from the file he's holding. From behind his mahogany desk he gives a swift nod and waves the guard off without a word. Of course the man obeys momentarily, his armored fist loudly colliding onto his breastplate in salute. The generous doors fall shut behind him. 

"Sit, please," Swain finally says, his flesh and blood hand pointing at the two chairs opposite of his desk. 

"With pleasure. The way here is always quite tiresome." And it truly is. Traveling to Noxus from Ionia - or wherever his _clients_ send Jhin - is not done within mere days. At least Jhin has no reason to wear the mass accelerator on his shoulder today, so he feels quite light. With that lightness exactly he lets himself fall into the wingback chair made of red leather. He leans back and crosses his legs. His relaxed state makes him wonder about Swain's posture, always sitting frighteningly upright. Has the man always been so uptight? Or did that come with the demon? 

As if he heard Jhin's thoughts, Swain gets up from his own leather chair. It startles Jhin a little, his single eye behind the mask fixated on his host who strides over to one of the numerous shelves. "What have you got for me, assassin?" Swain's back is turned to him and Jhin cannot help but to notice how broad it is. It fills out the black coat perfectly, the ominous iron feathers on it captivating Jhin for a second there. He wonders how they would look drenched in blood. 

Frowning under his mask at his own thoughts, Jhin shakes them off and focuses on answering Swain. After all and despite the comfort of his seat, he prefers to not linger in the Grand General's presence for too long. "My contractors within Ionia's council seem keen on laying low for a while. I was sent here for, _pft_ , one performance only. Ridiculous." 

"I see." Swain's voice is even more apathetic than usual. He does not seem to care for another Noxian life taken away, as long as Jhin holds his end of the bargain. Noises of glass and drinks being poured in fills the silence between the two men. "What of the documents and maps I asked you to look out for?" 

Jhin loudly pats the bag that hangs around his shoulders and rests on his lap. It causes Swain to throw a quick glance over his shoulder. His red eyes glisten, something undeniably greedy in them, like a crow spotting a treasure. The reaction makes Jhin grin under his mask. "Unfortunately I did not find everything. I also could only make a copy of a few things in the short time you gave me, but the most important map is amongst what I brought. I was also able to ... _lend_ a weapon from the Kashuri armory for you. Though I'm not sure if Noxians and their, well, savagery, would find use for it."

"Very well done. I would almost go as far as to say I am impressed," Swain says and finally turns around. Two wine glasses are in each of his hands and although Jhin wants to focus on the liquid in them, his eye is glued to the eerily glowing red arm on Swain's left. Jhin has seen it plenty of times by now and magic, be it good or evil, should not faze an Ionian. But something about this demonic limb is beyond intimidating. 

Without another word Swain holds out the glass in his human hand to Jhin. A chuckle from behind the mask. "May I ask what the occasion is?"

"You may. It is the fourth time you have accomplished the task I burdened you with. Is it not the number you shape your life after?" 

"It is," Jhin confirms. Despite his obsession with the number, he hardly shows it to the outside. However, he is not surprised about the things Swain knows about people anymore, no matter how well their secrets are sealed away. But there is never a move, an action, that Jericho Swain does without finding his own benefit from it. 

And who can blame him? 

This whole arrangement between them benefits both Jhin and Swain, after all. Swain gets information. Gets things no simple Ionian can reach and no simple Ionian would ever hand over to Noxus. And Jhin? He can freely _perform_ not only in Noxus, but also on Noxian territory. And more importantly, he has immunity if worse comes to worse. Whether Noxus invades once more and finally conquers Ionia or the council remains in power, Jhin is safe. 

And maybe it's that safety that makes him refuse Swain. Not hold him off with a _maybe_. He knows Swain does not accept refusal. And Jhin is eager to see how the Grand General will convince him anyway. "It is," Jhin repeats. "Yet I will have to refuse."

Swain's red eyes narrow. Like a predator, his gaze focuses on Jhin. His prey. A shudder washes over Jhin's back. "Why is that? Do you not enjoy the prestigious wine from your homelands?" 

A single pretended laughter from Jhin's side. "Please, my dear Grand General. We both know that I hold no sympathy or love for anything Ionian except for myself." Feeling bold, he gets up from his seat and drops the bag from his shoulders onto it. He stands face to face - or mask - with Swain now, who is the slightest bit taller than him. "Tell me. What is the real purpose of this? Is my wine poisoned?"

"Oh, what a droll imagination you have, Khada Jhin." The slightest hint of an icy smile plays around the usual flat line of Swain's lips. "You are far too useful to me to dispose of you. And even if you were not, there are far more effective and far less boorish methods than poison." Without hesitation Swain puts down the glass in his demonic hand while taking a generous swig from the glass he offered Jhin mere moments ago. His red eyes are intense as they catch Jhin's gaze. "Follow me, please. You can leave your belongings here, if you may." 

Swain turns on his heel and strides away. With a scoff Jhin takes the glass that was left behind by the other man and follows short. A moment later, their steps echo through the passageway that is at the end of Swain's office. Its short and empty except for Noxian flags on each wall and two massive doors at the end with the Noxian crest carved into them. 

As he walks towards the doors, Swain lifts his demonic left hand. Power fizzles to life within it, through it, Jhin isn't quite certain. It releases a force, a gravitational wave of energy and the doors fly open as if no effort at all was used. Jhin hopes that Swain does not hear the audible swallow he releases. Such power. 

Faint sunlight that presses through a wall of gray clouds dazzles Jhin's eye as he steps outside. Him and Swain halt on a lavish balcony that looks out to the Immortal Bastion. The foundation of Noxus Prime. But it isn't the only thing. Houses and narrow streets, filled with busy people. None of them can see them, however, as they are far too high above ground. "The people down there," Swain finally says, his demonic hand resting on the thick stone balustrade, "The people of Noxus. Of Ionia. Of Runeterra. I want to know all of their secrets. Things I do not know are a rarity. But they do exist." He turns his gaze from the streets below towards Jhin. "And I despise things I do not know." 

"And why exactly are you telling me this?"

"There is one thing about you that is shrouded in mystery, even to me. A rather peculiar thing. And that is your face." 

A chuckle that turns into a laughter overcomes Jhin. He puts the glass still waiting in his hand onto the balustrade, careful not to spill anything on his outfit. "Hah ... that is quite delightful. And what exactly makes you foolish enough to think I would show it to you, of all people?" 

"You see, I brought you out here to tell you a little something about myself." Swain's voice, despite Jhin's mockery, is calm. He looks out upon the Immortal Bastion with unblinking eyes, his hair moving with the soft wind. "People call me all kinds of petty insults behind my back. Cripple. Usurper. Delusional. The most common among these, however, is fool. I got called a fool for having the desire to do many things in my life. The last time someone dared to say fool to my face, however, was when I told them about my plans to rule Noxus." Crows fly by, cawing and screeching loudly. The lightest of chuckles escapes Swain before the glass of wine once again finds its way to his lips. "This view, Khada Jhin, is reserved for the Noxian Grand General. It shows me that if I want something, I will get it." 

Calmly, Swain puts his glass next to Jhin's. A red hand suddenly grabs onto Jhin's face, onto the mask. Out of pure instinct Jhin's own hand grabs onto Swain's forearm in a futile attempt to get the other off him. "I want to see your face, Khada Jhin. I will see your face. Because I always get what I want." 

The sudden power in Swain's rough voice and the tight grip on his face even through his mask terrifies Jhin. He hates his face, but he'd hate his death - or whatever it is that Swain plans on doing - far more. "Alright, alright! Let go already!" 

And Swain does. Roughly, he pushes Jhin's face out of his grasp. The very idea of showing his face to _anyone_ is abhorrent to Jhin and makes a cold shiver run down his back. He supposes he doesn't have much of a choice though. Except maybe for having his masks ripped off his face by some otherworldly and terrifying power. A groan leaves him as he removes the first mask, which takes but a mere second. After all, the accessory only stays in place due to Jhin's innate magic. The black, eel-skin mask that is put on separately from the bodysuit is just as quick. Quick and painful. In his mind, at least. 

Reluctantly, Jhin puts both of his masks onto the balustrade and instead takes his glass of wine. While his full lips take a swig, his blue eyes shoot a disgusted glare towards Swain. It does not seem to faze the man at all though. That predatory glint in his red eyes returns. 

When Jhin is done drinking, Swain's demonic hand grabs his face again, though not as roughly as before. As if examining his property, the Grand General turns Jhin's face left and right. And now that Swain's _hand_ is on Jhin's actual skin, he can feel how it pulsates. It throbs and radiates pure energy and Jhin cannot help but to wonder how quick it could kill him. 

"A pretty face for a demon," Swain murmurs. 

The vile little upturn of Jhin's nose accompanied by a scoff makes Swain let go off his face. He takes his own glass into his human hand and holds it up to Jhin, waiting for a clink. Reluctantly and with a frown, Jhin lifts up his own glass. 

"A toast to your empire, my dear General," Jhin says. 

_And to poison in your drink, one of these days._

 

* * *

 

A pulsating hand presses against his lower back. It causes Jhin to bite down on his lower lip. The gaze of both of his eyes lingers on the Immortal Bastion. Its shape and tall towers along with Noxus Prime's countless houses are silhouettes against the pale full moon. The view is sublime and Jhin could see himself get lost in it. But a sharp pain blooming from his rear interrupts his thoughts and reminds him of reality. When he was first on this balcony a month ago, he didn't think he would find himself here again so soon, with his upper body naked and his pants around his knees no less. 

His visions becomes blurry before his eyes clamp shut altogether, his head hanging low. He braces himself against the balcony's balustrade, his black fingernails dragging over its rough surface. Jhin's breath hitches before a helpless whimper slips past his lips. His whole body trembles as Swain's length forces his insides further apart. 

From behind Jhin, a rare and delighted smile crosses the Grand General's aged features. What delights him is the sight offered to him. It's not just Noxus Prime's landmark, but also Jhin, who makes a grandiose figure all bend over and pliable. Another demon, bending to his will. Swain withdraws simply to push back into Jhin's tight heat and watches the assassin's back arch in submission. With a pleased hum Swain's demonic arm wanders from Jhin's lower back along his spine. It offers some comfort to Jhin, the softest of moans filling the warm night sky. 

But Swain takes that comfort away when his inhuman claw tightens in Jhin's black hair, pulling his head up. Swain, still in all of his clothes except for his lowered pants, presses against Jhin's meager naked backside. He leans in to the other's right ear, a mere breath's distance away. "Look upon Noxus' glory, Khada Jhin. It's mine. All mine. Just like you." 

A wheeze comes from Jhin as Swain pulls his hair, then breathless laughter. "It's sublime how full of yourself you ahh- aahh- are."

"You are quite full of myself at the moment too, my dearest _Golden Demon_." 

Despite the tight grip keeping him in place, Jhin's head turns halfway around. A defiant smirk washes over his face, although his eyes are half-lidded with lust. "Mhh- is that an attempt at humor from the feared Grand General? Wonderful ..."

The aggressive growl that rumbles through Swain's throat is savage and raw. It makes a shiver run down Jhin's spine and his lower region twitches desperately. And he hates it. Hates how he reacts to this half-man, half-demon's crudeness in such a petty way. Hates how a demonic hand on his chin and a hard body against his own makes him give in to this reckless and dumb desire of his. Not for the first time. And certainly not the last. 

Jhin loses the trail of his thoughts when the hand in his hair snakes around his slender throat instead. A squeeze makes him whine, the pressure hard enough to remind him who has the upper hand here - without a doubt. "You Ionians have the bad habit of always wanting the last word," Swain grunts and presses in and out of Jhin with precise haste, "But for once I do not mind. Rather the opposite. I do so enjoy listening to your voice as I bend and break you."

Too many thrusts or maybe too few pound against Jhin's rear. Swain's rhythm is unsteady on purpose, keeping Jhin on edge, but never pushing him over it. Heavy gasps and moans leave him, trying his best to keep himself from screaming as the streets below them are still filled - and also to deny Swain the pleasure of his voice. 

After all, this is somehow not simply sex. It's another of Swain's twisted and quaint games. Neither of the two men, however, know how to win it. 

But Swain certainly knows how to enjoy every second of it. 

The powerful hand on Jhin's throat feels his pulse speed up. Pleased, Swain lets it wander up to the man's chin while his far more human hand has a tight grip on Jhin's naked hip. The two men are pressed flush together, Swain's panting voice still roaring into Jhin's ear. "Sing for me," the Grand General demands in a hushed whisper. 

And then Swain's speed and roughness reach its peak. Pure and primal lust take over Jhin's restraint and senses. The General's fingernails dig into his soft flesh and narrow bones, marking him with remainders. His whole body feels like one throbbing sensation; the power erupting from the hand on his chin, his tightening hole and his own leaking erection. Jhin is dizzy, overflowing on pleasure.

And finally, Jhin sings. "Swain," he wails. A curse. "Grand General - haa- aah." 

Like an unholy chant the true demon's name tumbles over Jhin's lips over and over. A demonic finger brushes over those lips, feels how they shake like leaves. Behind him, Swain pants deep breaths while he pumps in and out of Jhin, _in and out_ , harder and _harder_. 

By now Jhin's voice releases senseless moans and whimpers of urgency, his fingers finding their way around his far too neglected length. But before his hand can even start moving he feels a familiar sticky warmth inside of him and he reaches his own climax, into his own hand though barely touched. 

It's no surprise whatsoever that Swain withdraws from inside of Jhin immediately. Without any regard for the other man he lets go off Jhin's used body, not caring about the fact that he is a trembling mess and barely finds hold onto the balustrade. A victorious little curl of his lips is all Swain allows himself. After all, the color on Jhin's cheeks and the fluid running down his thighs are a delightful sight. 

With weak eyes and even weaker knees Jhin watches Swain fix his clothes quickly. "We have to speak of your next mission when you're," the Grand General says and examines Jhin from head to toe with a cold gaze, "done."

Without another word Swain turns and leaves Jhin to himself. It takes the Ionian a while to catch his breath. He can't help but to chuckle to himself as he gazes out onto Noxus' pride, the Immortal Bastion. 

He likes to play games. 

With the Ionian council. 

With Swain. With Noxus. 

And maybe he's even winning.


End file.
